Gone
by Ladyhawke 620
Summary: Story Ten in the series after Progeny.So many things lost and gone over the years,is it ever possible to truly find any of them? Roper takes on a new mission and a whole new set of troubles.Now will both Archangel and Hawke lose more than they ever dream?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - Set in the timeline originally created by Rachel500, of ten years after Dom's death in the events of the original Blackjack episode, this story utilizes characters created and owned by Belisarius and Universal from the original Airwolf series as well as USA's Airwolf II season. They are not mine and I make no claim to them or profit from them. No copyright infringement is intended. The characters of Seb, Nicky and Amelia were created by Rachel500 and belong to her. Roper is mine. "Gone" is story ten in the series.

* * *

><p>"Gone"<p>

Leaning around the corner, sweat trickled down Stringfellow Roper's shoulder blades, plastering the lightweight blue shirt to his skin. Long fingers tightened uneasily around the grip of the gun he held, slick in his hand.

_He had to be crazy to take on this mission for the company, he thought, swallowing hard. Still, it'd seemed a good enough idea when his CO had suggested it. _Squinting, he watched a sun-kissed blonde braid duck down behind several fifty gallon drum barrels ahead of him, before slipping inside the hangar with a swish.

Of course, that'd been before he'd met Katie. Now, he was simply convinced she'd get them both killed.

Heavy steps rounded the hangar corner in front of him.

Blue eyes widening in apprehension, he took in a sturdily built, camo-clad guard with automatic rifle in hand.

_Great._

The man hesitated, tossing aside a cigarette, looking like he might turn back the way he'd come.

Muscles tensing, Roper prayed he would.

Abruptly, a metallic clang rang out from inside the hangar, clear and loud.

Head swiveling, Roper swung towards the sound even as he snatched his attention back to the guard at hand. The guard spun, booted heel grinding out the cigarette at his feet. Grip tightening on the gun, he headed purposefully towards the hangar.

_Crap._

They'd been made. So much for just getting in and getting out. He'd known that blonde lunatic was going to get him killed.

Ducking, he flung himself across the expanse in between, crouching as he ran. Dropping, he rolled at the last instant coming up next to the barrels - the only thing saving him from being heard the sound of a jet overhead.

The door clicked shut even as he scrambled to his feet.

Swearing, he lost valuable seconds as he fought the lock trying to decide if discretion or valor was the better choice. Did he pick it, and hope for the best, or just kick it in?

_Ah hell, he was probably dead either way._

Booted foot slammed into the door, the flimsy metal lock giving as the door shuddered and banged back against the wall behind it as it flung open.

Breath heaving, he didn't notice, his attention clearly centered on the slim blonde at the other end of the building beside a pallet of crates. She spun, some sixth sense alerting her even as the soldier raised his rifle.

Diving, she lunged for the stack of crates. Gunfire erupted around her, even as Roper dropped to his knee his own gun raising, his desperate brain computing the bold stamped Spanish words on the crates - ¡Peligro! ¡Explosivos!

_Danger! Explosives!_

Stunned sapphire blue eyes flared wide. "No!" he yelled, bringing his own gun up to bear, his aim suddenly sharper and truer than it'd ever been any time in his life.

It didn't matter. The explosion erupted; the percussive blast slamming him to the ground, rocking the hangar as it flung his gun from useless fingers.

His one consolation as he watched the seething fireball lick its way towards him was there'd be one less guard for the company to worry about when they came in to clean up his mess, Katie's mess.

Blue eyes flickered and closed.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean Roper's missing and you don't know where he is?" Hawke demanded, leaning across Archangel's desk, very nearly in his face. Tension radiated from every pore of his body. "It's my understanding he was working for you," he snarled. The implied threat was clear in the words.<p>

Marella set the cup and saucer she held down with a sharp clunk next to his hand. "You know as well as I do, the Company and the FIRM are not the same thing, Stringfellow Hawke!" she protested.

Seated, Michael waved her off with a placating hand even as Cait placed a restraining hand on Hawke's forearm.

He cast her a startled glance, before straightening as if realizing how far into Michael's personal space he'd been. He didn't apologize though.

"Maybe so," String conceded, a muscle ticking in his lean jaw as he glanced at Marella before squarely returning his attention to Michael. "But I don't for one minute buy you don't have some clue as to what they're up to."

Arching an eyebrow, Archangel pushed to his feet reaching for his cane. "Be that as it may, Hawke," he admitted turning. "But that doesn't necessarily mean I know what Roper was doing working for them."

"You will find out though?" Cait interjected, her blue-green eyes worried even as she felt the muscles in Hawke's arm leap beneath her hand.

Sensing the anguish there, Michael nodded. "I'll do my best, Cait," he promised. "But you two are going to have to stay out of it for now. I can't have my contacts jeopardized just because somebody went off half-cocked."

This last was clearly directed at Hawke and he knew it.

Scowling, String snatched his arm free of Caitlin's, glowering. "Then you'd better get a move on, Michael," he rasped. "I know the Company's reputation when it comes to cutting their operatives loose," he said, referring to how they'd knowingly left his brother Saint John in a Laotian prison camp for nearly a decade, making no effort to rescue him. "I won't wait long."

Lean fingers grasping the door handle, he snatched it open, striding out angrily and leaving Cait in his wake. She shot an apologetic glance at Michael before hurrying out after him.

"He's right, you know," Marella murmured, picking the cup up from Michael's desk. The dark brown eyes were sober. "They do have a habit of eating their own."

Staring out the window, the white-clad spy sighed. "I'm aware of it. Give Meryl a call. We've got to talk."


	2. Chapter 2

Awareness returned slowly, along with a sense of failure. He didn't have to be told if he'd been half a second quicker his partner'd still be alive.

Frustration welled, along with the pain in his head. Maybe he hadn't liked Katie LeMond much, but she'd been his responsibility.

_His responsibility_. Bitter amusement coursed through his veins. If he didn't know better, he'd be believing in the Hawke family curse shortly.

Hell. Maybe there was something to it, he thought, snorting in frustration. Losing String before he was even born, Sam and Nhi Huong dying, finding his father only to nearly lose him along with nearly dying himself last year. Between the getting shot and the explosions, was it any wonder he was beginning to wonder?

He groaned, shoving the superstitious thought away.

"Ah, Comrade Hawke, you've decided to rejoin us," a rough voice smirked in heavily accented English.

Briefly, confusion hazed through him as Roper tried desperately to place how the man would know his identity, before a dull certainty throbbed through him.

_They'd done this before_.

Surprise and panic flared the sapphire blue eyes as he caught sight of the liquid-filled syringe in the other's hand. Kicking out, he fought desperately, bound feet flailing as he struggled against the hands that held him still.

It didn't much matter as the needle found a vein and the syringe plunged home.

* * *

><p>Grimacing, Mike shoved himself up on the pillows, glancing up at Hawke's blue eyes as he did so. "So, what exactly is it you're wanting from me, Hawke?" he asked.<p>

Ignoring the question, String's eyes guiltily raked over his friend in the hospital bed. He shifted one lean leg against the other uneasily, propping against the windowsill. "Where's Sarah?" he demanded quietly.

Unbidden, Mike's gaze traveled the distance to the open door and back, wondering the same thing himself. Her visits had become scarcer and scarcer these past few days. _Give her a few more and they'd be non-existent_. Shoving aside the clench of fear in his gut, he plastered a grin he wasn't sure he believed himself on his face and jibed back, "Oh, you know, places to be, people to see…"

Dark blue eyes narrowed. "You want me to talk to her?" he asked, referring to his sister.

Mike sighed, dropping the pretense, hurt in his own blue eyes. "No. There's not really anything to say, String. We'll either work it out, or we won't." The lopsided grin he flashed his String's way was wry. "I'm not taking any bets at the moment."

The pilot shifted uneasily, feeling there was something he should say. "Look, Mike…" he began.

Rivers shook his head, his jaw tight. "Forget it Hawke," he muttered. He shrugged, getting his own emotions under control.

"Besides," he rasped. "Somehow, I doubt that's what you came to talk to me about."

Torn between the feeling he should say something, do something and worry for his son, String hesitated.

"Hawke?"

Frustration hissed through his teeth. There wasn't a doubt in his mind Roper was fast running out of time. The uneasy feeling in his gut had long since moved to panic. "Roper's missing Mike. I need you to help me find him."

* * *

><p>Nausea rolled across his stomach, counterpoint to the pounding in his head as reality swam back into focus. It was followed almost immediately by the vision of Katie LeMond gesturing wildly to a dark-haired soldier. Voices raised in discordant harmony, he watched blearily as a gun appeared in her hand and a crimson stain blossomed across the man's chest. Eyes dulling, he collapsed as he fell.<p>

"No," he whispered or maybe shouted, the word barely croaking past dry lips.

She swung towards him, gun in hand.

_She was going to get them killed…except of course, she was already dead_…struggling he fought for consciousness.

Strong hands gripped his shoulders.

The room swam, and gratefully he slid back into oblivion.

* * *

><p>Frowning, Hawke sighed as he rifled through another stack of papers. He slapped the file down in irritation on the bed, causing the others to jump.<p>

"What I don't get is why he was there in the first place!"

Mike shot him a reproachful look, carefully moving his leg from underneath the file.

Poised in the hospital doorway, Marella arched an eyebrow. "Maybe the question you ought to be asking is who, Hawke, not why."

His eyes narrowed. "Alright, I'll bite, Marella. Just who was he working for?"

Limping, Archangel stepped around her, closing the door behind him. He handed Hawke a slender folder, heavily redacted.

The pilot took it, his eyes never leaving Michael's face.

"Spencer Kane, head of the CIA and new head of the FIRM."

Rivers shocked blue gaze clearly registered surprise.

"Head of the FIRM? Since when?" String demanded.

The sharp click of Marella's heels echoed on the tiled floor. "Does it make a difference?"

Shoulders straightening, his jaw tightened. "No." Kane's reputation preceded him. Quite honestly, he couldn't think of anyone less suited to being in charge of Airwolf, or the FIRM.

Michael paced the room, not meeting Hawke's eyes. "According to my resources, Roper was paired with another agent named LeMond."

"LeMond? Why does that name seem familiar?" Mike queried, shifting restlessly forward in the bed.

"She's worked for us before," the deputy director replied shortly.

Rivers frowned.

"At any rate," Archangel continued, shaking off the interruption, "They were sent in to do reconnaissance on a local crime lord we have reason to suspect is moving into the arms market big time."

Hawke frowned now. "So, why Roper? He's not exactly a spy, Michael."

"Hey, wait!" Rivers broke in. "Isn't Katie LeMond the agent who got her team killed on that weapons bust that went south a couple months ago?"

Stunned blue eyes flared, as Hawke swung a horrified glance the spy's way. "Tell me he's joking, Michael!"

Archangel leveled an intense, one-eyed glare at Mike, before turning back to Hawke. "Unfortunately, no. Katie LeMond was the sole survivor of a bomb blast that took out her entire team. She stepped on a tripwire that triggered the explosion."  
>Hawke's shoulders straightened and his jaw tensed.<p>

Exasperation tinged Michael's voice. "It was an accident, String. She was exonerated."

"I hope so," Hawke commented darkly. Behind him, Caitlin rose to stand beside her husband.

The two men's gazes challenged each other. "War's war Hawke. You've seen enough to realize that."

"Yeah," String replied dryly. "I have. You still haven't said why Roper."

"Kane needed a pilot. He was the one we had." Michael swung away. "Seems my other fighter pilot is still recovering from nearly getting himself blown up. A recovery that might be a hair faster if he followed doctor's orders…" he drawled, "unlike certain helicopter pilots I know."

Mike grimaced.

Hawke wasn't distracted. "Like you do any better," he retorted, referring back to Michael's command of Red Star when they'd thought Hawke dead. "Where is he now?"

Leaning heavily on his cane, the elder spy shot Marella a glance.

"Suriana."

Cait's indrawn gasp echoed in the room.

"You've got to be kidding me," Hawke snarled.

"Unfortunately, no," Marella answered. "It remains a hotbed of political unrest, perfect for the drug cartels and arms dealers."

"And who knows what else…" Mike muttered, memories of their last mission there trying to retrieve an agent and Saint John getting shot a little too fresh.

Marella shot him an irritated glance.

"You sent Roper into there?" Hawke demanded. "Does Seb know?" It was no secret along with everything else that had happened Jade had been involved in the quagmire there.

"No," Michael commented quietly. "I thought it best to keep that information above his clearance level…"

String swung on his heel, pacing the small room. He raked a frustrated hand through his hair, staring out the window. "You got any idea where he actually is?"

Marella plopped the file open on Mike's bed to an aerial photo. "We've got reports of a pretty substantial explosion here. It also happens to coincide with their last check-in."

"Of course, it does," Mike muttered.

Caitlin lifted worried blue-green eyes to String's.

He sighed heavily. "He'll have to be told. Cait may be able to fly, but if Roper's hurt, odds are good I'm gonna need help getting him out."


	3. Chapter 3

It was late afternoon by the time he stumbled into consciousness again. This time he found himself alone, bindings cutting into wrists, carelessly tossed on a rough unmade bunk.

_He'd seen worse places, he thought foggily. He just couldn't remember where._

Groaning, he tried to roll to his side, overbalancing and hitting the unpaved floor with a hard thunk.

Pain exploded in his head, pinpoints of white light nearly blinding him. The sharp ache in his ribs from the explosion, snapping his memory back into clarity.

_Oh, yeah. 'Nam. Back when he was on his own and got his ass kicked in that alley for stealing that piece of bread._

_Great. Just like old home week. _

Grunting, Roper shoved to his knees spitting dirt.

* * *

><p>Fingers wrapped around the stick, Hawke dared a furtive glance at the younger man seated stonily beside him.<p>

Finding Seb had been easier said than done, as it turned out. He doubted he still would've found him had it not been for Mike.

Since Jade's death, his younger brother had made himself remarkably scarce at Red Star.

_Not that he could blame him. _Having your girlfriend's blood spilled all over the carpet in your office was hardly conductive to getting your work done…

Marella had had the bloodstained carpet removed in a matter of hours, despite the damage Van der Berg had done at Red Star and the turn Michael had taken. He doubted however, the memory of finding Jade there would be so easily removed. The memory of holding Gabrielle in his arms as she died in the desert rose up to taunt him.

"Target twenty minutes out," Cait called out.

He glanced back to the instruments, wishing there was something he could say.

Seb nodded, reaching to check his gun one last time. Hawke frowned, watching him.

_Unfortunately, sometimes it just sucked._

* * *

><p>Scowling, Rivers perused the file one last time in frustration. Being left behind hadn't sat well with him. It never did.<p>

The practical side of him understood the reality of Hawke needing another pair of strong shoulders if Roper and LeMond were hurt. Cait was a damn good pilot, but neither was she going to be able to toss somebody over her shoulder and run out of a burning building if she had to. No matter what you said, it put the mission at a disadvantage.

His breath hissed out in frustration. _Oh admit it, Rivers, he thought. You're just ticked because you're the one left home sitting on your hands._

Truth of the matter was, he was no more capable of tossing someone over his shoulder right now than Cait.

_And he might never be…_

The reality that his days of flying might be over while his friends were half a world away clawed at him and he shoved it away ruthlessly, ignoring the sharp ache in his chest.

There had to be something he was missing.

_There __had__ to be…_

* * *

><p>The next round of questioning didn't go any better. Two big, burly men dressed in camouflage had come and hauled Roper bodily out of the packed-dirt floor cell.<p>

He'd been foolish enough to put up a fight - and they'd been happy enough to oblige, slamming him face first into the bunk.

He was pretty sure his nose was broke, blood from it dripping across his chin. Not that that even vaguely compared to the fiery pain that ripped along his ribs with every aching breath he took.

"You will talk!" the tall, reed thin man snapped, his face mere inches from Roper's. The stale smell of his breath and the cigarettes on it roiled across his cheek and Roper fought the urge to gag.

Nostrils flared and he swallowed hard, the second before the blue eyes narrowed and he gave a lopsided grin, praying to gain control of his querulous stomach, if only for the moment. "You know, I'm not feeling too talkative today. Sorry. Maybe, some other time?"

The bite of metal baton caught him across the ribs before he even finished speaking. A glint of gold glanced across his dimming vision even as the breath whooshed out of his lungs leaving him gasping, struggling for air.

_It didn't help._

Fear and panic clawed at him, as he fought for his next breath, the surety he was going to die if he didn't get air - now…this second…yesterday…

Pain slammed into him. The coppery taste of blood flooding his mouth.

And then, abruptly it was over as he sucked in air greedily, desperately into his lungs. Even the cigarette man's breath was bliss. He drew a fortifying breath, knowing what came next.

"Maybe not," he rasped, shrugging.

This time when the baton landed, he slid into oblivion without a word.

* * *

><p>"Idiota!" the word was spat almost as if a curse. "Next, you will tell me you have killed him!" Angrily, a slender hand raised the ugly blue-tinted 9mm it held as if to backhand him with it.<p>

"No!" the word erupted from the thick lips. The next came almost as a sneered afterthought. "Ma'am."

Sky blue eyes narrowed as the cigarette man stepped back. The safety clicked off the gun. "He'd better not be dead, Raoul."

The burly soldier eyed the petite blonde across from him with distaste. "We'd be better off if he was," he stated coldly.

"Not your call to make!" Katie contested hotly.

A veteran of more wars than he could count, Raoul Gutteraz eyed the delicate, baby doll blonde with a sneer of arrogance. _Women, bah…_

_Rastovich was a fool getting mixed up with this one._

Reaching down, he knotted a beefy paw in Roper's shirt. Given a choice, he'd be hauling his body out about now… He ignored the blood that trickled across his hand.

The younger man's head lolled forward, hitting the table in front of him with a sharp thwack.

An unidentifiable emotion flashed across Katie's blue eyes and she took a half-step forward.

"Stay out of my way, puta…" he snarled. The wicked-looking knife he held sliced sharply through the last of Roper's cords, taking with it a decent scrape of flesh. Blood dripped to the ground.

Katie took a step back. "Raoul…"

Dangerous brown eyes angrily raised to meet hers, dark and deadly. "Did I not tell you…"

The retort of a 9mm echoed loud off the walls, blood splattering across the table and the floor behind him. A look of permanent surprise etched itself across the burly man's face as he stared blankly for a moment first at her and then at Rastovich, before sliding to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Katie ejected the used clip, letting it hit the floor with a metallic ting as she slapped a new one into place.

Pallid lips twisted into a grimace of distaste, but Rastovich said nothing watching her.

"Not a whore, Raoul. And who I sleep with is my business."

Two men stepped out of the shadows.

"Bring him," she muttered, shoving the gun into her waistband. She fell into step beside the tall, thin man.

He waved his hands and the two soldiers followed, dragging Roper's body between them.


	4. Chapter 4

Landing gear down, Airwolf settled heavily into the clearing her landing directly mirroring Hawke's mood.

Bringing Seb had been a mistake_. _He knew it with an ache in his gut that wouldn't quit. Maybe he should've asked Sinj…

But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn't. Jo and the baby's health was too precarious as it was. If something were to happen…

He couldn't do that to Sinj, not even for Roper. Not even for his own son.

Reaching down, he grabbed another clip for his gun, eyeing his brother and shoving it into his pocket as he did so. "Ready?" he queried.

"Yeah," Seb replied flatly, his tone devoid of all emotion.

"String, I could come if you want," Cait began. "Seb could stay here with the Lady and…"

"I said I was ready!" Seb snapped, anger surging to the forefront as if from nowhere. "I know you're only trying to help, but I'm perfectly capable of handling this!"

Caitlin shot her husband a worried look, concern darkening her blue-green eyes.

Hawke raised an eyebrow on a heavy sigh, shrugging. The muscle tick in his jaw gave away his unease though.

Fighting his own misgivings, Seb fought to control the emotions being back in the field brought, shoving aside the despair, the darkness that told him it didn't matter if he lived or died. Jade's death had left him rootless and he knew it showed.

"Please, Cait," he whispered. "No matter what happens, I owe him at least this much."

And it came down to that. Her hand already on her gun, Caitlin hesitated. She knew he did. Seb and Roper's bond was at least as strong as String and Saint John's. _Family. _Clear blue-green eyes met his storm-tossed ones. The silence stretched out between them for a long moment.

She sighed, her hand sliding away. "Watch your back," she whispered.

"Will do," Seb murmured, leaning forward to kiss her cheek, his hand clasping her arm.

String's dark blue eyes met hers, the message between them silent, but every bit as clear as if the words had been spoken.

And then they were gone, his barely murmured, "Wish us luck," ringing in her ears.

"Always." she whispered.

* * *

><p>Loping, Stringfellow Hawke covered the uneven ground between him and the still standing hangar. Seb clung close to his heels, his own weapon drawn.<p>

Before them a great gaping maw opened up, jagged edges of aluminum raking the ground. A still singed smell of cordite hung in the air, the wind picking up flurries of ash and wafting it towards them.

Kneeling, Seb dropped down beside his brother, eyeing the blackened hulk of a building. "Roper?" he asked, panting.

Hawke nodded.

"How are you so sure?"

Blue eyes squinted in the late afternoon sun before String pointed. "Look, over by the rocks. See the footprint?"

Hazel grey eyes narrowed, searching. "Yeah," he finally said, spotting it. "So?"

Hawke gave him a lopsided grin, pointing out the distinctive waffling pattern. "Treads Roper's."

Startled, Seb shot him a wide-eyed glance before a frown settled back between his brows. "Doesn't mean he's still alive though," he rasped.

"No," Hawke acknowledged, what was left of the grin sliding off his face. "The drag marks over by the building make it likelier though. Not a lot of motivation to move a dead man."

Shoving hard, he pushed to his feet, trying to ignore the doubt in his gut that Seb's words had awakened.

_As he saw it, he had no other options. Either way, his son was going home or he'd die trying. He wouldn't leave him behind. He'd made that mistake once and it wasn't one he planned on making again._

"Let's go," he muttered, sliding into the late afternoon shadows.

Seb nodded, following silently.

* * *

><p>Frustrated, Mike rifled through the stack of papers one last time. No matter what he did, he couldn't shake the feeling there was a lot more to Katie LeMond than the files said.<p>

He also couldn't shake the feeling they'd met somewhere before, that he knew her from somewhere, someplace…But where?

Of course, he could be wrong, he thought in frustration. It might be as simple as having bumped into her in the halls of Red Star, or some mission.

The cumbersome elbow to finger cast caught on the edge of a second stack of files he was going through for Michael on the mission in Cuba, slinging them into the floor, scattering them across the linoleum. Papers slid over the tile and under the bed, beneath cabinets.

Rivers bit back a curse, aware he'd just given himself an all afternoon job sorting them. Awkwardly, he shoved out of bed, ignoring the light-headed feeling that tried to strike when he leaned over, reminding him he was still on far too many painkillers.

Clumsily, he reached for the file under the bed left-handed, freezing halfway as he caught sight of the picture in it.

Recognition dawned.

_Oh, crap._

Bruised and battered knuckles flexed, grabbing hold of it and then he was abruptly lurching to his feet, staggering in his haste as he yelled. "Marella!"

* * *

><p>Frowning, Katie listened to Rastovich with half an ear.<p>

The rest of her attention was squarely centered on the two men behind her. Shooting Raoul hadn't been in her plans. Admittedly, it complicated things…

_It would've been easier to allow him to kill Roper._

Of course, that didn't mean he still wouldn't have been trouble for her. She'd seen enough men with that look in their eyes to know he viewed women as a disposable commodity - taking orders from her would've posed a problem. She swallowed.

_And Rastovich was enough of one…_

She heard Roper's body hit the floor with a soft thud behind her, as the two men released their burden.

Pale grey eyes in a ferret-like face turned on her. "You sure this is going to work?" Rastovich demanded.

"Of course," she replied smoothly, the soothing tone in her voice almost a mockery. Real emotion was a commodity she'd traded long ago. "He is Hawke's son after all."

Thin fingers lit another cigarette, irritably flicking away the used butt. He shook out the match. "Men have walked away from more. He has another son. Why risk everything on one he cannot even prove is his? I would not."

_No, you wouldn't…_

"Hawke isn't you," she replied coldly. Her blue gaze flickered over the sky as if searching for the pilot himself.

A narrow eyebrow raised, as if sensing the ice in her answer. He inhaled deeply, before blowing smoke out in a condescending cloud. "You'd better hope not," he remarked, his grin nearly as feral as his soul. "You're betting your life on it."

Katie took one last glance over at Roper, still unconscious on the hangar floor, blood still matting the baby-fine, blondish brown hair, so like Hawke's. Even now, the blood on his scraped knuckles gave evidence of the fight he'd put up.

She shrugged. "It's a safe bet."

* * *

><p>Low and sharp, the Lady's howling keen rose over the airfield.<p>

The results were dramatic. They were also expected. Men came slamming around the corner, booted feet pounding and AK-47's raised. Bullets rained off Airwolf's armor-plated hide like hail.

Safe inside, half-hidden by a heavy grey helmet, Caitlin couldn't help the instinctive flinch at the thud and spark of ammo all around her. Playing decoy might be a necessary evil, but it didn't mean she had to like it. All it'd take to bring Airwolf down was one inopportunely placed bullet up the mid-air refueling intake or the hub of a rotor and she knew it.

"Come on, String. Come on," she muttered, thumbing the guns, worrying about where they were the whole while. "Hurry up!"

* * *

><p>Sharp ears catching the ruckus outside, Seb Hawke ran for all he was worth, hard on his older brother's heels. The fact he owed Roper his life at least twice over hadn't escaped his notice…<p>

…nor had the fact he owed Hawke. Gun raised, he ducked and covered, firing off a shot, neatly taking down the soldier who'd lined up Hawke in his sights. String hit the ground, rolling and firing, returning the favor.

And then they were there, breathing hard, blood and sweat running down String's face where a bullet had clipped a rock in front of him and ricocheted, and Seb scraped and cut from a tumble somewhere on the rocky ground.

"You okay?" String panted, eyeing him, instinctively searching for bullet holes.

Seb grinned, the light hazel eyes alive again, wicked. "Fine, old man," he said, razzing his older brother by eighteen years. "After all, I had you slowing them down for me. But if you're too tired to lead…"

An eyebrow quirked, and then twin pairs of boots were hitting the hangar door simultaneously. "Yeah, right."

* * *

><p>Ivan Rastovich was no fool. He knew the ticket to laying his hands on one of the US's most technologically advanced weapons lay at his feet.<p>

He cast a scornful look at the boy. _That was all he was after all…barely more than a child. What maybe twenty, twenty-two? What did he know of making war? And they thought they could use him to take him down, after a lifetime of it? _He snorted in derision.

_Hawke was an idiot to risk everything for him._

He shoved a well-placed kick into the boy's ribs, hearing the pained grunt that accompanied it with a sense of satisfaction. Cold amusement lit the ice grey eyes.

_This was what they sent to bring him down?_

Katie shifted on the edge of his peripheral vision. Slender fingers gripped a .45 as she scanned the sky above.

He also knew better than to trust her…

Oh, the pretty blonde might say all the right things. And she might even be able to shoot a man down in cold-blood; Raoul was proof of that. But he also knew better than to assume she was on his side.

The question was - whose side was she on?

He'd read the files on her. He knew she walked away when the rest died. She'd worked for so many agencies, her résumé resembled alphabet soup.

Not the FIRM. They wouldn't want her.

And not Roper… The beating he'd taken was proof of that. Though..., there for a minute he'd wondered if she'd harbored a liking for him.

And yet, she was perfectly willing to sacrifice him to get her hands on the helicopter, on Airwolf…

He inhaled deeply, expelling a thick cloud of smoke. There was only one answer for it.

_Katie LeMond was an enigma._

And he hated enigmas…

He'd just have to kill her when he was done.

* * *

><p>Shrill keening lit the wind. Long blonde hair whipping around her like a halo, when she was anything but. Katie fought back a grin.<p>

_Today, Rastovich was hers._

She shifted her grip on her weapon, watching the sleek gunship overhead.

Behind her, the hangar door slammed metal to metal, the echoing slam of the boot kicking it in. Rifle fire rang out, tinging off metal supports.

Stunned blue eyes swung over her shoulder even as she tucked and rolled gun in hand.

_Crap. Trust Hawke to go for the backdoor…_

Behind her, Simeón and Marko took point, pulling a couple AK-47's even as Rastovich ran towards where Roper lay.

Undaunted, Hawke and the blonde with him kept coming. Cover between them and Roper was sparse.

Katie bit back a curse. She was accustomed to playing the odds long, but then there was just crazy… Gripping the .45, she crouched behind the nearest crate.

Hawke made it to cover, ducking and rolling at the last minute. He came up shooting. Unfortunately, it was just as clear the one behind him wasn't going to make it.

Watching Simeón fall, Katie stepped out, raising her own weapon.

She fired.

Peripheral movement caught String's eye. _Seb! _Rolling, Hawke brought up his own gun, firing.

Blood splattered as Katie's bullet found it's mark, neatly taking down Rastovich's man. He fell.

Seb ducked, miraculously missing the bullet with his name on it by mere inches.

Katie wasn't so lucky. Pain slammed into her as Hawke's bullet found its mark four inches below her shoulder.

"No! No, Hawke!" Roper yelled.

Crimson colored her vision as she saw Roper was up and struggling with Rastovich. It was clear he was losing the battle.

Horror etched itself across Hawke's face as he realized he'd shot the wrong target.

She wavered. The ache in her chest ratcheting up to something like an elephant stomping on your fingers. She whimpered.

Rastovich's laugh echoed sharp and evil off the rafters overhead. "Got the wrong one, Hawke!" he cackled. Sinewy arms reached out, abruptly grabbing Roper wrenching him down. One hand knotted itself in blood-tainted hair, forcing his head over. He raised the gun he held in the other hand. "Saved me killing her myself!" he mocked.

Beside him, Seb stirred. Surreptitiously, String signaled him not to, caught between the certainty Rastovich planned on killing him, and the knowledge if he moved he'd do it now.

"What do you want?" he gritted.

Jamming the gun up beneath Roper's jaw line, Rastovich smirked. "Airwolf. What else?"

Impatiently, the whip-thin man motioned for him to drop the gun.

Reluctantly, String lowered his arm, hoping Seb was a surer shot than he was. The heavy steel automatic slid past his fingers…Even as it fell, he saw Rastovich start to raise his weapon again.

_Crap._

Beside him, he saw Katie start to lose her battle with the inevitable, her knees buckling, crumpling.

"No!" the word ripped past his lips as he lunged too late for his gun.

Seb raised his gun.

Roper struggled in desperation, arms pinned behind his head. "Katie, no!" he screamed, lunging forward.

Rastovich brought the gun up…

Katie hit the ground knees first, going down. _Darkness clawed and sucked. _Arm shaking, she fought back the darkness, raising the gun left-handed. She fired.

A bullet exploded.

Rastovich fell, a bullet hole between his eyes, dead before he ever even hit the floor.

Blinking, she took in the look of eternal surprise on his face. The .45 slid from nerveless fingers, clattering as it hit the floor.

"Katie!"

Lunging, Seb was to Roper now, knotting his fingers in his shirt, catching him when he would've fallen.

Stumbling, staggering, Roper fought to shake him off.

_Blood. Lots of blood._

It oozed from the stinging cut that gashed his hairline. It was nothing compared to the pool that was starting to envelop Katie.

_His partner. His responsibility. _Pain and guilt clenched his gut.

Seb's arm reached for him, wrapping itself around his waist.

Roper shoved him aside, nearly falling, wavering.

Metal on metal gunfire exploded, Airwolf's trilling howl beneath it. An explosion rocked the airfield somewhere far too close, the reverberating boom enough to send all of them cringing.

Heart pounding, Seb shoved Roper to the floor. He'd barely hit when he heard the scrape of Hawke's .45 coming up off the concrete floor and the metallic thuds as he emptied the clip in the direction of the hangar door.

"Get him out! Get him out, now, Seb!" String yelled. "Do it!"

Taking in the three new bodies at the door, Seb didn't argue, instead knotting his fingers in the other's shirt and hauling him upright. Pain-filled hazel eyes skimmed across the disastrous scene and tried to avoid the crimson puddle around Katie.

He blanched, memories of Jade rushing up to taunt him. The feel of her blood on his hands, the warmth of her body leaving his. He grimaced.

_Some things you couldn't change._

Fingers tightening on Roper's arm, he shoved, forcing him out with him. He didn't look back.


	5. Chapter 5

Ice blue eyes, cold as a winter's snow took in the fall of Rastovich's men by the doorway. Eyes that had seen far too much. The keening howl of the Lady rose on the wind, calling his name.

Hawke blinked, shuddering.

_Dark angel. Now, always…_

A shuddering gasp behind him snatched at his soul, reminding him he owed his own life, Roper's and Seb's to another. One that he had shot.

Guilt rose up, threatening to paralyze him. Brutally, he shoved it away, scrambling across the concrete floor towards her. "Hang in there, Katie," he muttered, dropping to his knees beside her. "I'll get you out of here."

Eyes the same shade as his own sparkled with unshed tears. A single crystalline drop slid down her dirt-streaked cheek. "Don't …think so."

Pain flared in the pale blue eyes as he reached for her, carefully probing her wound, confirming what she already knew.

She grimaced. "You were right, you know," she murmured.

Sorrow etched itself in the sharp lines in his face. Hawke rocked back on his heels eyeing her.

"I would've taken her," she whispered.

_Airwolf. _He didn't even have to ask. "So why didn't you?" he rasped. The opportunity had presented itself when he'd left himself and Seb open.

Her gaze drifted to the hangar door, where Hawke's younger brother Seb was still trying to hustle Roper out.

The clang of falling metal striking concrete rang out.

Her breath hitched, even as she shot him a lopsided half-smile. Out-of-it or not, it was clear Roper was giving Seb all kinds of grief.

"Decided…it wasn't worth the cost," she panted, flashing him a too bright smile.

Hawke reached for her fingers, wrapping them in his. They were like ice.

"I'm glad," he rasped.

"Me…too."

Her grip tightened spasmodically on his. She whimpered in pain, fighting for breath. The pain was sharp now, jagged and razor-edged, blackness beckoning.

Hawke's grip on hers tightened, drawing her back.

"Watch your back, Hawke. Watch his."

String spared a glance towards the two struggling for Airwolf, Seb half-carrying Roper, who normally topped him by two inches.

Darkness clawed and swept at Katie, and she shoved it back sorrowing. Her grip tightened to the point of pain.

"I…never worked for Rastovich." The words came out in a rush.

"Who then?" he gritted, but it was too late. She was gone. And he was left to say goodbye to a girl twenty years his junior - a girl he had killed and who had probably saved all their lives.

A girl who would've stolen Airwolf, he tried vainly to remind himself. It didn't work.

Square-tipped fingers slid loose from her grip, gently closing the sky-blue eyes forever. His thumb left a smear of blood on the fine-boned cheek.

_Her blood. He'd put it there. _He swallowed, feeling a shudder ripple through his whole body.

Grimly, he got to his feet, heading the way the other two had gone. He picked up her gun as he went.

Sliding it into his waist, he followed the other two out.


	6. Chapter 6

Frowning, Mike sat down at the conference table across from Archangel. As he did so, the older spy bit back the urge to ask if he was okay, watching him waver.

_Painkillers. _He didn't have to ask to know. Reflexively, he shifted his weight off his bad knee.

Dressed in worn jeans and a casual shirt, Rivers looked at first glance the picture of robust health - until you noticed the exhausted smudges under his eyes and the careful way he held the arm.

_No, Mike definitely did not look well. _Silently, he resolved to have a word with Marella about the matter when he was done here.

Shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he lowered himself into the chair opposite. He leant the rosewood cane against the table beside him. "You said you found something?"

Cobalt eyes shadowed with exhaustion met his squarely. "You might say that." Anger laced Mike's normally placid tones. "When were you planning on telling us Katie was related to you?"

Surprise flashed across Archangel's face before it was quickly masked, impassitivity to rival Hawke's slamming down. He smoothed a hand across his mustache before looking away. "Never," he muttered.

"Never?" Mike snapped. "You didn't think Hawke deserved to know what his son was getting himself into? That the rest of the team ought to know?"

Michael shoved away from the table, awkwardly getting to his feet. Lean fingers knotted around the cane handle. He glanced away, not meeting River's eyes. "You don't have the clearance. Neither does Hawke."

"Damn the clearance!" Rivers snarled, lunging to his feet. Staggering, he caught himself on the table just before falling. "We're friends if nothing else, Michael! That ought to count for something."

Limping, Archangel paced away. He looked rueful. "Friendship notwithstanding, I think Hawke understands there are little things like national security."

"Really?" Rivers asked, sarcasm dripping from the word. He paused a long moment. "And is he going to understand if it gets his son killed?"

The white-clad deputy director froze in mid-stride, casting a startled one-eyed glance at Airwolf's second pilot. "Close the door."

* * *

><p>Staggering, Seb stumbled under his load, Roper's nearly equal weight almost felling him.<p>

_Of course, it didn't help he was fighting him every step of the way. Where the blazes was String anyway? _Sweat slicked his skin, making it hard to hang onto Roper.

Ahead of him, Airwolf's trilling howl rose on the wind as she hovered low to the ground like a dark angel of light and death, smoke swirling around her. Guns out, blast debris littered the ground, new mars scarring her nose.

Even as he ran, she swung tail first placing herself between Seb and Roper and another volley of gunfire.

Bullets ricocheted off the windscreen as Cait let loose with a round from the chain guns.

"Let's go, guys!" her voice bit out across the speakers, brittle and more than a bit tense. "We've got gunships incoming. I think we've worn out our welcome!"

Rifle fire chewed the grass in front of them, tearing out chunks of dirt and then, abruptly String was there, looping a hand around Roper's waist as they ran for the chopper.

* * *

><p>Seven hours later, Caitlin sat in a hard molded plastic chair in the waiting room of a FIRM clinic. Hawke had disappeared hours ago, whisked away to be debriefed, Seb alongside.<p>

_The fact he'd been gone longer than fifteen minutes didn't bode well. _Impatiently, she drummed slender, freckled fingers on the chair arm. Stringing sentences together wasn't Hawke's strong suit. If nothing else, she'd have expected him to shove the debriefing off on Seb.

_Especially with Roper hurt._

Seb hadn't shown.

Frowning, her fingers drummed, as she watched the clock. Worry darkened her eyes. Ten more minutes and she'd go hunting herself.

She shifted positions, light grey flight suit rustling.

_Oh, hang._ _She'd had enough. The FIRM would just have to get over it…_

She lunged out of her chair even as the thud of booted feet sounded down the tiled hallway.

She swung around, blue-green eyes going wide as she caught the expression on the older of the two men's faces. "Hawke?" she breathed.

He was visibly upset, lips pressed tight and skin taut over the lean cheekbones. The look in the light blue eyes was bleak.

_Bleaker than she'd seen him in a long time. And there'd been plenty of dark times in the past few years to account for._

Jaw clenched, he ripped his gaze from hers.

Questioning, she turned to Seb.

If anything, he looked as shaken as Hawke.

"What's going on, guys?" she whispered, sudden fear enveloping her. Roper'd seemed worse for wear, but surely not…

Seb seemed to read her fear and moved to assuage it. Hawke on the other hand, seemed a rope so tightly stretched it might break at any instant. "He's fine, Cait," he gripped her shoulder, holding her to him when she would've sagged. "Or at least as close to fine as he can be under the circumstances."

Caitlin swallowed, wondering why she didn't feel more relieved. Blue-green eyes sought Seb's storm-colored ones when String avoided her gaze. "Then what?" she whispered.

_There was no denying the shoe was about to fall…_

Seb shot an uneasy glance at his older brother, hesitating.

Jaw clenched, he made no answer.

Pinned down, he spoke. "Call it a disagreement. String and Archangel had words."

Hawke snorted, his blue eyes glittering dangerously.

Cait unconsciously took a step back.

"Is that what you call it?" he gritted. It was clear he felt differently. One hand clenched at his side.

"Look, String," Seb began. "It was a mistake…"

Lunging, Hawke swung his fist out, slamming it into the wall beside him. Cringing, Caitlin ducked at the movement, even as she noticed him wince in pain.

"Hawke…" she whispered, starting to reach for him.

Pale blue eyes like ice shards pinned her where she stood. "Don't," he muttered. "Just don't."

And with that, he spun on his heel and then he was gone.

* * *

><p>Frowning, Marella watched Rivers go, beating a limping retreat. Pain lines bracketed the normally ebullient face as he brushed past her leaving Michael's office.<p>

Carefully, she set the tray of coffee down on the marred cherry wood desk in front of her.

Staring into the distance, Archangel made no sign he even realized she was there.

Marella placed a slender hand on his shoulder. "I take it, it didn't go well?" she murmured.

Startling, Michael flinched, before rubbing a hand down his mustache. "No, he sighed, wearily. "Can you blame him? Working for a clandestine government agency is one thing. Finding out they paired you partner with a known double agent is something else."

Marella's hand tightened sympathetically on his shoulder. "You didn't know, Michael," she whispered. "It was the Company's decision."

"No," he growled, pain lacing every syllable. "But she was my daughter! Hawke deserved better, Roper sure as hell deserved better!" His hand slammed down on the desk, even as his voice trailed off, breaking. "I should've known, Marella!"

His head bowed, shoulders shaking.

Privy to his private torment, she blinked away the sudden dampness that filled her own eyes, knowing all too well Alex's daughter could've been theirs. Her fingers closed on his shoulder, grateful for once they'd never been blessed with children of their own. Angelina had been more than risk enough over the years.

Alex, Michael's first wife had gone to White Sands on a mission for the FIRM. She hadn't come back. And neither had the child in essence. During the ensuing search the FIRM had put into place, the child had disappeared from a locked home , Michael's home, while under a nanny's care. She'd simply vanished without a trace…

She would've wondered, except Alex had turned up dead a couple weeks later.

They'd never found the child.

_Not that it'd ever stopped Michael from looking._

He'd finally thought he'd found her. Marella hadn't been so sure.

_And now, it didn't really matter, did it? she thought. Except maybe to Michael and Hawke._

"She was lost a long time ago," she whispered, her own tears for what might've been, sliding down the café au lait cheeks and mingling with his. Her arms wrapped around him as the silent sobs took over.

_The only question that remained was what it'd mean for those left behind._


	7. Chapter 7

Sighing, Caitlin eyed the tousled blondish brown fringe that peaked out from beneath a patchwork quilt on her sofa.

_Roper._

Hardly the first time he'd ended up here, and probably far from the last. Though never as dramatically as this time. And never at such odds with Hawke.

Sighing, she sipped the coffee she held in a chipped cup and eyed him with a worried frown on her face.

In typical Hawke family fashion, he'd beat a path for the door almost as soon as he'd hit the hospital, clamoring to be out. Never mind the bruises, or the beating he'd taken. Never mind the fact he'd been caught in an explosion…

The memory of the needle tracks up his arm as they'd hauled him aboard Airwolf, rose up mocking her.

_Or heaven knows what else…_

The mournful sounds of a Prokiev melody drifted in through the open window, reminding her who wasn't here.

She didn't have to guess there was more to it than Roper had said, more than String would ever say. That display in the hospital corridor had told her that much.

The problem was what it didn't tell her - like why Roper was shunning Hawke like he had the plague, what Michael and String had had words about or why there was a fist-sized hole in the FIRM's hospital wall.

Muttering, String's son tossed on the sofa nearly flinging off the quilt. One lean arm flung out upsetting the lamp on the table beside him.

Caitlin moved to catch it at the last instant and moved it out of harm's way.

_No, it didn't bode well._

* * *

><p>Casting a weary glance up at the dark, moonlit sky above him. Hawke sighed, leaning one arm across the warm, satiny finish of the Stradivarius as the last notes died in the still night air.<p>

Memories of eyes as blue as his rose up taunting him. Pain-filled and fighting it to the end. Knowing he'd put the pain there.

Roper battered and bleeding, inches away from his own death.

And the knowledge no matter what he did, he couldn't save him. Couldn't save Seb. Yet knowing he had to try…

Michael's daughter stepping out at the last instant and saving them. Sacrificing her life to save his.

And the realization half an instant too late whose side she was on.

Pain burbled up in his chest.

_Yeah, maybe she would've stolen the Lady given half a chance. She'd also saved his son's life, Seb's life and his own sorry butt while paying with her own life._

_It was a debt he couldn't repay. And he'd made it so…_

Groaning, he bowed his head against his arm and wept.

* * *

><p>Seething, Mike Rivers shoved the car into gear, backing it out of the FIRM's lot. No little feat considering he had to do it left-handed. Screeching, it pulled out of the lot, sliding not so seamlessly into traffic as he wrestled it from first gear into second. Maybe it was the extra effort driving took, maybe it was his state of mind, at any rate he didn't notice the black sedan that pulled onto his tail until it was too late.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

"What do you mean Rivers is missing?" Archangel snarled, glaring at his assistant.

Biting her tongue, Lauren met her boss glare for glare, trying to remind herself he wasn't usually like this. "Exactly what I said, sir. Sarah called looking for him. She was worried since he hadn't come back from his meeting with you."

"She drove him, didn't she?" he scowled impatiently, glancing back at the stack of papers on his desk, wondering how Hawke's sister had managed to lose her boyfriend.

"No, sir."

Archangel glanced at the clock on his desk. It'd already been four hours since his meeting with Mike that morning. "Well, how the hell did he get himself out here then?" he snapped.

"He drove himself, sir."

"He what?" Rivers was barely able to negotiate the length of the conference room without falling on his face, if this morning's performance was anything to go by, much less capable of driving all the way out to Red Star.

"Sarah says he insisted. Something about him not being sure who he could trust anymore and how he didn't want her involved. She's really worried, sir…" Lauren trailed off.

_That made two of them. Rivers was almost as stubborn as Hawke, but he was nowhere near approaching the level of foolhardiness the other pilot sometimes exhibited. _

Something akin to nausea clutched at Archangel's stomach as he realized he at least in part was to blame for this risk Mike had taken.

_If he'd been doing his job, Rivers would've never had reason to question his loyalties._

_And Katie might've still been alive…_

He shoved the dark thought aside as another worrisome one surfaced. Mike usually drove a stick shift and the number of possibilities of an "accident" between Red Star and the apartment he was currently sharing with Sarah was substantial.

_On a good day, there were plenty. Now, if his suspicions had been right…_

"Get an APB out on his car," he clipped, rounding the desk. "And tell Marella I need Angel 1 ready to fly in five minutes!" He snatched up his cane, heading out of the office at a limping run.

Startled, Lauren barely had time to step back out of the way to avoid being run over.

"And get me copies of whatever the files were Rivers had access to," Michael ordered. "Now!"

* * *

><p>Flinching, Roper tossed, the dream pulling him along places he had no desire to go.<p>

_Places he'd rather forget… Sweat trickled down his back, blondish fringe sticking to his forehead._

The quilt hit the floor.

_Something was wrong. Every sense in his body screamed it. Fear and adrenaline pounded along every nerve._

His arm slung free.

_Heart slamming against his ribs, he swallowed against the lump that threatened to choke him. He took first one step and then another across the hard-packed ground. He could almost taste his death in the air around him._

_His grip tightened around the gun in his hand even as the branch broke underfoot. The crack was like a shot._

Teetering the lamp hit the floor.

_Breathing hard, he pressed against the wall, praying, and then his foot was hitting the door. _

_Katie spun calling his name, and the world exploded around him._

Jolting awake, he nearly lunged off the couch, blood rushing through his chest. Heart pounding and hands shaking, he levered himself back into a sitting position, Katie's name still whispering on his lips.

Sweat dripped off his skin.

It was only a dream…

He drew a trembling breath before reality pressed in...

**Katie was dead at String's hand.**

Not much different than if he he'd killed her himself…only difference was he hadn't been the one who'd pulled the trigger.

Equal measures of pain and anger coursed through him. At String, at himself. Agony and frustration slashed through him, and he slammed his hand to the glass-topped coffee table, taking it through it. Glass shattered and tinkled to the floor, littering the woven rug.

He couldn't have cared less.

Chest heaving, he drew a shaking hand across his face, ignoring the blood that trickled down the fine hairs on his arm. Gasping, he choked on the sob that burbled up through his chest.

_There would be no more sleep tonight._

* * *

><p>Darkness cloaked the room, a damp dankness clinging to every breath he took.<p>

_Snagged and bagged, _thought Mike Rivers with a snort. _Just like a rookie. _Damp, musty burlap filled his nostrils.

The irony was not lost on him. More than once he'd ribbed Hawke about not being able to fight his way out of a wet paper bag when he'd gotten himself into one predicament or another.

Now, he was the one sitting here with a bag on his head…_figured._

Pain chafed through his shoulder as he fought the ropes that held him to no avail. The only thing he accomplished was delivering a wrenching twist to his injured arm.

He bit back a groan, tilting his head back in agony.

At the moment, he'd be pretty happy to see Hawke, bag not withstanding. Right now, even his cocky, smart-mouth comments would sound good…

The slightest whisper of a footfall gave him a half-second's warning before the burlap bag was roughly jerked off his head. Bright light flooded his eyes blinding him. Reflexively, he tried to throw a hand up, only to have it come up, abruptly short.

"Ah, Major Rivers," an amused voice chortled. "You're awake."

Blinking, he tried to make sense of it all as the colors swam into focus. In front of him stood a tall, dark-haired man with a scar running from ear to chin.

Mike swallowed. It was a wound that should've killed.

He smiled, the smirk making the effect if anything, more macabre. "I've been so-ooo looking forward to meeting you."

* * *

><p>"What do you mean Rivers is missing?" Roper snarled at Marella, clearly unhappy to be called to a mandatory emergency meeting - even if it was in the cabin's living room.<p>

Lean, muscular arms braced against the bar in a defensive posture, String looked no more welcoming. With Michael stood beside her, a white knuckle grip on his cane, the tension in the room was nearly unbearable.

_She was glad he'd put the glass of scotch down that Caitlin'd offered him earlier - otherwise she was afraid the glass might've shattered in the ironclad grip that wrapped itself around the cane._

Marella grimaced, meeting Seb's eyes for the first time. Equal measures of sorrow and strain met her gaze there.

_It was clear Airwolf's team had a problem. The only question was could they pull themselves together in time to save Mike._

_A week ago, she would've never questioned it. Now she wasn't so sure._

She hauled in breath. Maybe that stiff drink wouldn't have been a bad idea after all, she thought with a bit of gallows humor. At least, falling down drunk they might not have been able to kill each other…

She drew in a hesitant breath, dark brown eyes scanning the group. "First things first," she said. "The fact of the matter is Roper getting caught wasn't dumb luck. It was planned."

Across the room. Hawke's eldest shifted as if to protest.

Marella cut him off. "So was Katie's being there." Moving quickly, she passed out 8 x 10's of another man. "This was who she was working for - Victor Greschen."

Frowning, Hawke contemplated the photo trying to decide why the man in it looked familiar. It didn't come and he tossed it aside aside in disgust. "I thought she was supposed to be working for the Company," he clipped.

Michael sighed. "She was. However, it's come to light her allegiances were a little less clear."

String glanced first at his friend, noting the deep grooves of sorrow that marred his cheeks and then the photo. It was clear the news was ripping a hole in Archangel's soul. "She was a double agent?" he asked quietly, his own eyes dark with sympathy.

"No!" Roper exploded. "She…"

"She was there to steal Airwolf," Michael stated baldly. "In the end, that's all you need to remember."

Sensing the rising emotion in the room, Seb intervened. "So, who's this Victor Greschen guy and what's he got to do with Mike's disappearance?"

Michael's single-eyed gaze scanned all of theirs as he leant heavily on the cane he held. "Greschen works for the Serbs these days, though there's some evidence he's done work for the Russians and the Libyans in the past."

"In other words, a real gun for hire," Hawke clipped. "He sells his services to the highest bidder,"disgust laced his tone. "Well, we've dealt with that type before."

"He's more than that, Hawke," Marella cautioned. "Greschen knew Moffett back during the Airwolf project. We think…"

"Not relevant, Marella," Michael interrupted, sharply cutting her off. "Getting Rivers back has to be our first priority."

Startled blue eyes took in Marella's half-angry downcast look, wondering what it was Michael wasn't telling him.

_It was clear he wasn't finding out today._

"So, where does this leave Mike?" Caitlin questioned, clearly puzzled. He can't fly the Lady right now - and besides which we have her."

"No, but Greschen probably doesn't realize Mike's grounding may be permanent and he may not be back as part of Airwolf's crew," the deputy director answered.

"And when he does?" the red-head asked fearfully.

"Then he ceases to have any value," String replied, his tone brittle.


	9. Chapter 9

Gritting his teeth, String helped Seb load the rest of Airwolf's armaments aboard.

Whoever had called it dropping bombs had had the concept right. The problem came with not dropping them, he thought ruefully as he scraped his knuckles for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning as he shoved a sidewinder into place.

"Think he'll come?" Seb asked, shooting Hawke a worried look.

String didn't have to ask who. He'd been guilty of glancing up at every stray sound he'd heard in the last two hours.

Not that it'd done any good.

He shrugged as if to say who knew. "Doesn't matter," he rasped. "We have to go either way."

"Yeah, I know," Seb murmured. "I just would've felt better if Roper'd come."

String sighed, wiping grimy hands on the rag he held. Blue eyes narrowed against the sun on the horizon. "That makes two of us," he said quietly.

* * *

><p>Cursing, Roper kicked the offending tire on the Grand Prix. Normally his prize possession, the sports car really set too low to the ground for a trip out to the lair over the rough terrain.<p>

Not that that'd stopped him when he'd shown up to the hangar only to find the Santini Air jeep gone.

Maybe not the wisest move he'd ever made, he admitted to himself in sheer disgust. Now, here he was, in the middle of nowhere with only one way out.

Figured, he thought in disgust, reaching for the radio he'd tossed in the car as an afterthought. Only he would have this kinda luck. "Wolf cub to Angelwolf, wolf cub to Angelwolf do you read?"

* * *

><p>Skimming over the uneven terrain Airwolf wove in and out of the monolithic rock formations. Rocks that had been there long before he'd been born.<p>

Rocks that'd be there long after he was gone. Grimacing at the grim thought, String drug his attention back to the task at hand.

_Get Mike out._

There wasn't room for anything else. No thought of how much easier it would've been if Roper'd been backing him. No thought of how close they'd all come to biting the bullet last mission out. No thought of how they might already be too late.

Seb's fingers clattered across the keys as Airwolf swung a hard right, her pearlescent belly shimmering in the sun. String's fingers tightened on the collective as she nosed up.

And no thought of what this might do to his relationship with his son…

The clattering in engineering abruptly ceased, Seb's head tilting as he caught a radio signal, barely audible. Flicking switches he extended range, a grin stretching his face as he recognized the voice.

"Wolf cub this is Angelwolf. We read, what's up?" he spoke.

Roper's voice, more than a little disgruntled came across the radio. He huffed an irritated sigh. "Hey, Seb?"

"Yeah?" the other replied.

"I missed my ride on this rather nasty-looking helicopter. Think you could pick me up?"

Seb chuckled, relief lighting his eyes as he shot a glance String's way. "Sure. Where are you?"

Roper huffed. "Sitting on a deader than a doornail Grand-Prix in the middle of nowhere. Where else would I be?"

Amusement lit the storm-grey eyes. "I'll see what we can do. Out."

Looking over to his older brother, flying with a grim efficiency, Seb switched on cabin communications. "Hey, String," he said. "Roper just radioed. We've got one to pick up. It seems we just found our missing crew member."

Blue eyes crinkled beneath the heavy grey helmet.

And Seb couldn't have proved it, but he could've sworn the husky rasp that greeted his ears was rougher than usual.

"Co-ordinates?" Hawke queried.

He gave them, surprised to find the Lady turning on them before the words had even finished leaving his mouth.

_Suddenly, he was feeling a lot more hopeful about finding Mike though…_

* * *

><p>"Major Rivers, you might as well talk," the whipcord lean man pacing the length of the room began conversationally. "Save us both some time."<p>

Eyeing the scarred man with the crop in his hands, Mike snorted. He'd already seen the business end of his captor's temper. It'd been an experience he didn't figure he'd soon forget - though he didn't figure it'd be for lack of trying.

"That's alright, I've got all the time in the world," he retorted. "Been thinking about going on an extended vacation actually…"

The lash of the crop came down with a resounding smack on the table, missing Mike's hands by inches.

Instinctively he flinched, jerking them out of harm's way.

Malice glinted in Victor Greschen's eyes. "I am not a man of much patience," he warned. "And you have about exhausted it, Major Rivers."

Carefully tucking his fingers under, Mike eyed his captor. "No?" he mocked, his tone taunting. "I really would've said just the opposite.

It takes a lot of patience to kidnap your arch enemy's daughter and wait twenty years to use her against him."

Greschen spun on his heel, surprise evident in the move.

"Yeah, Victor," he retorted. "I know who you are, how you took Katie LeMond and how you used her. Slime like you, stealing babies." Anger tinged Mike's voice, giving it strength. "You've got another thing coming if you think you'll take down Airwolf and Archangel that easily."

Leaning forward, Greschen eyed the pilot with amusement, malevolence glittering in the pale green eyes. "Really?" he queried, smacking Mike lightly across the cheek with the crop. He chuckled at his involuntary flinch, the macabre scar twisting into a cruel parody of a smirk. "And here I was, willing to bet they were already ripping each other to shreds."

Mike glared at him balefully. "Don't bet on it," he said through tight lips.

Victor Greschen leant forward, nearly nose to nose with him. His green eyes narrowed cruelly. "And don't you forget I've had twenty years practice getting what I want."

Glare met glare, neither one willing to back down,

And then, so fast Mike never even saw it coming, Greschen slammed a throat strike home, the chair teetering under the force of the blow.

Frantic, Mike gasped and fought for breath, the air abruptly seizing in his throat.

The chair crashed to the floor, shuddering. The force of the impact driving whatever air remained out of his lungs.

He gasped and wheezed.

Victor leaned across the table watching. "Not to mention I was an old hand at shaping things to my way of thinking long before Archangel and his wife were whelping that squalling brat of theirs."

A desperate rattle filled the room as Mike greedily sucked air into his lungs like a dying fish.

Unconcernedly, Greschen straightened his tie before striding form the room. A self-satisfied smirk creased his face. "We'll talk more later, Major Rivers," he promised. He closed the door behind him with a click, leaving Mike still gasping on the floor.

* * *

><p>Scowling, Roper eyed the gleaming black helicopter settling to the ground in front of him. Given any other option to save Mike he'd have taken it over Airwolf.<p>

_And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, he told himself caustically._

Ahead of him, Airwolf settled heavily on her struts, long rotors sweeping overhead. The mechanical trilling howl that was so much a part of the machine filled the air.

_Now or never._

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he ran, ducking for the helicopter. Rotor wash whipped the sun-kissed blonde-brown fringe on end.

Hand on the cockpit door, he opened it with a whoosh.

Sapphire blue eyes met his searchingly before dropping after a moment when there was no response. "Glad you could make it," Hawke commented in that quiet, husky rasp of his.

Glaring, Roper hauled himself aboard, snatching the second helmet from the console. "I owe Mike," he clipped. "Otherwise I'd be elsewhere." He shoved the helmet on.

String's hand tightened on the collective, his shoulders straightening as if beneath a blow.

"Wouldn't we all," he whispered.

Seb sighed, seeing the tightening in String's grip and feeling the almost palatable rise in tension within the cockpit.

_It was going to be a really long flight._


	10. Chapter 10

Grimacing, Mike eyed the man standing over him. "You again?" he groaned, as he reached for him. "You know we've really got to stop meeting like this. People are gonna talk."

Burying one hand in the younger man's curls and the other on his lapel, Greschen heaved him upright, setting the chair down with a thump.

"You are the only one I am interested in talking," the other man clipped, giving the tousled curls a jerk for good measure.

Mike winced, feeling it down to his roots. "Then we got a problem," he retorted.

Striding around the bound pilot, Greschen raised an eyebrow. "Where's Airwolf being kept?"

Mike's chin dropped to his chest as if considering for a long moment. The answer when it came was patently Mike. "You know - that's a good question." He gave a protracted sigh. "I mean…750 million dollars worth of helicopter, just sitting out in the middle of nowhere…that just isn't right."

Greschen's eyes narrowed.

"After all," Mike continued. "I've got a perfectly good covered garage at my apartment condo, but…"

"Enough!" Greschen snapped, venom in his voice.

"What?" Mike asked, giving him a bemused grin. "I was just answering you."

The slap when it came was resounding.

"You will talk," the other man promised.

Mike shook his head, trying to gain some semblance of equilibrium back. The salty tang of blood filled his mouth. He heaved in a sharp breath, giving the other man a lopsided grin while trying to ignore where his lip was split. "Funny, I thought I was."

Greschen growled in irritation. "You think I will not kill you?" he snarled.

_No, I think you'd be perfectly happy to, _Mike thought, eyeing the cold glitter in the other man's eyes as he circled him. The only question was how long it'd take him to get around to doing so.

"What, and lose my winning personality?" he quipped. He braced himself for the next blow.

To his surprise, it didn't come. Greschen merely raised an eyebrow, looking abruptly amused.

"You are very good, Major Rivers," he drawled.

"Thanks," Mike returned, barely daring to hope, even if it was only for a moment.

"Not nearly good enough, of course," Greschen continued. "But enough I may keep you around 'til the first string team shows up."

Rivers bit down on the sting of irritation the words brought. The grin slid off his face.

"So, who's flying her?" Greschen queried. "Hawke?"

Dark blue eyes gave him a baleful glare, not answering.

"Roper?"

Mike hesitated a long moment before finally shrugging. "How would I know? After all, I'm only second string," he retorted.

The arms dealer chuckled as he slapped him roughly on the shoulder, pretending not to notice as Mike cringed beneath his touch. "Oh, do not be grumpy, Major Rivers," he rejoined. "I merely wanted to make sure there was someone left when all was said and done to fly her."

Rivers shot him a questioning glance.

Greschen shrugged. "I'm not interested in Hawke," he commented dryly. "He may be a fine pilot, but he's entirely too much trouble."

Mike's eyes narrowed, quickly garnering his meaning. Greschen intended to take Hawke out before the rescue could even be mounted. The question was how?

Fingering his scar, Victor eyed him contemplatively. "So, who does that leave?" he questioned. "You or Roper?"

Mike glared back.

Victor leant forward, crop in hand, all traces of amusement gone. "Where's Airwolf, Rivers?"

Mike sucked in a harsh breath, bracing himself for what he knew came next.

_Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound._

He gave a brittle grin. He'd sooner die than give up any of Airwolf's team.

_The only problem was, with his luck it'd probably come to that._

"Last I checked, doing a pretty good imitation of Santa Claus stuck in a chimney," he retorted wryly. "You got any idea how hard it is to get soot off rotors?"

The crop slashed down again.

The yelp when it came this time reverberated off the walls.

* * *

><p>"Okay, we go in here," Hawke said, the stick he held tracing a fine line in the dirt in front of him. Behind him, Airwolf crouched like a beast of prey waiting.<p>

Staring at the diagram, Roper scowled. "Still seems like it's a pretty high risk plan to me."

The fine line between Seb's brows testified to his agreement. It was clear to his mind String was taking the lion's share of the risk. "You sure we can't come up with a better way?"

Hawke huffed a sigh. "Not as I see it. We have to assume Mike's gonna be worse for wear, especially with that arm of his. Greschen's nobody to mess with." Hooded blue eyes glanced over at his son, remembering how close they'd all come to losing their lives at this monster's bidding.

He swallowed.

_They would have too, had it not been for Katie._

He shoved the thought away, knowing it was an emotion he couldn't afford right now. Waiting, he eyed the other two.

Frowning, Seb traced the course one last time with a strong, slender finger. At long last, he nodded.

Roper's resentment was clear, from the muscle leaping in his jaw, but he gave a clipped, "Fine." Maybe it wasn't genuine, but it was enough.

The mission was on. Now all they had to do was save Mike, stop Greschen, and not get killed in the process.

_Yeah, right, no problem. _He huffed a sigh. _When pigs fly…_

* * *

><p>Greschen smiled, surveying his handiwork. He'd been waiting a long time for this day and he intended to savor every moment of it.<p>

Twenty plus years. Twenty long years of raising Archangel's sniveling brat as if she were his own and knowing he'd allowed Moffett to beat him out. Airwolf had slipped through his hands.

Bad enough, Michael had claimed Alex as his own when she'd been his.

Rage churned in his stomach at the memory of a red-haired agent facing him down gun in hand, fury blazing in the dark, green eyes, on a summer day so long ago.

She'd dared to try to stop him when she'd found out his plans for the Proteus project, threatened to turn him over to the Committee…

He fingered the slashing scar, remembering exactly how he'd gotten it.

Handing her over to Moffett had been a pleasure.

Granted, not near the joy snatching the little blue-eyed, blonde haired toddler out of Michael's own home had turned out to be - all while the deputy director had been desperately turning over every stone hunting for his young wife.

His already dead young wife, Greschen thought with a rush of satisfaction.

His original intent had been to kill the child. That'd changed in the weeks that'd followed, waiting for the perfect moment to do so, to ship her body to him, to deposit it on his front doorstep and watch.

He'd come to realize the better torment came from Michael's not knowing. Watching the deputy director nearly wreck a pristine career in his desperation had been worth the headaches of hanging onto the child.

And gradually, he'd begun to hatch a new plan - to raise her as his own, and eventually turn her loose on Archangel. Even then, the child had been precocious and the possibilities had been endless. The irony had not escaped him, using Michael's most precious possession to bring about his downfall.

And so, Katie LaMond had been born.

Admittedly, the experiment had been a mixed bag. Katie had been harder to control than he anticipated. And eventually, Archangel had picked up his career before it imploded - probably due in no small part to his new assistant Marella Duvall.

He would've removed her from the equation, had the opportunity ever presented itself.

Unfortunately, it hadn't. She was better than the others had ever been; Alex included.

_And Michael had gotten better at protecting what was his. _Bitterness creased his lips. The growing relationship between the two of them over the years had not escaped his attention. Neither had their eventual marriage.

If it hadn't been for the fact Archangel's bank account had shown he was still expending vast sums of money still hunting for his daughter, he might've been tempted to scrap the plan.

The prospect of killing her had been a luscious fruit - just out of reach. Tormenting, taunting, the only balancing blow being the thought of destroying Michael and all he held dear.

_Marella…_

_His daughter…_

_His honor…_

_Hawke..._

_And getting what Moffett had stolen in the first place - _

_Airwolf._

Yes, he could be patient. Greschen smiled again, the smile twisting the thin lips.

_It was only a matter of time._


	11. Chapter 11

Frowning, narrowed blue eyes surveyed the heavily protected compound in front of him. Belly down, he hugged the ground in the uneven, rocky gully.

_It wasn't quite as simple as he'd told Roper._

String lowered the binoculars, the sharp bite of sand stinging a cut in his arm.

_Somehow, it never was._

Heaving a sigh, he lowered his head to his forearm praying for strength. Sweat dampened and curled the hair at the back of his collar. The guards had doubled since two hours ago.

Clearly, Greschen had an idea they were coming.

What it was about that, that worried him beyond the obvious he couldn't say. He just had the feeling they were walking into a trap - knowing there was something he should've seen, should've known, but missed.

The ugly, niggling familiarity gnawed at his nerves, like a half-forgotten memory.

Just out of reach.

Not that it made any difference. They were the only hope Mike had of making it out alive, and he knew it.

Lean, tanned fingers reached for the radio at the small of his back. He clicked the button, army crawling forward, his voice the barest rasp. "Time to party, kids. Let's get a move on."

_Just once though, it'd be nice if the surprise was on the other side._

* * *

><p>"Strings on the move," Seb stated, tapping his headset against the sudden static in the com line. If anything, it just got worse.<p>

He frowned. First thing when they got back, he was going over the communications board if he had to do it with a fine-toothed comb. The wiring in the board was looking like upturned spaghetti. There was only so long you could put off the inevitable and the Lady had been through a lot as of late. String was a lot of things, but an engineer he was not - maybe, that last upgrade…"

"Hey, you hear me?" he snapped, abruptly realizing Airwolf was still on the ground and his brother was closing in on the enemy with no back up.

Up front, Roper cursed, flipping the main rotor switch again and again. One minute everything was fine - the next everything was crap.

Dead.

_Which was exactly what String'd be if he didn't get this hunk of junk in the air, he thought._

Irritation had him slamming his hand to the console.

Engineering abruptly flickered to life even as the rotors suddenly caught, the whop, whop of Airwolf's blades shrilling in the air; she picked up speed even as thermal picked up the heat signatures of a lone figure with two patrols closing.

"Now!" Seb yelled, flipping switches.

Roper grabbed for the collective, abruptly snatching the helicopter into the air.

* * *

><p>Inch after inch, Hawke covered the ground between him and Greschen's compound. On any other day, he would've appreciated the open expanse, the clear blue sky.<p>

Not today though. Today they were likely to get him killed. The irony was not lost on him.

Breath hissed out of pursed lips as he warily eyed the expanse between him and the next scrubby bit of cover. His finger clenched on the .45's trigger, eyeing the guard.

100 yards.

He could do that.

_Maybe…_

Abruptly, the guard turned, giving him the opportunity he'd been seeking.

He shoved to his feet, booted feet slamming to the ground, covering the distance.

Three yards from cover he slowed, seeing the trip wire far too late.

Black booted toe caught it, even as he slid, trying to turn at the last instant.

Caught. Held. Threw him to the ground, the re-percussive blast swelling, slamming into him as he flung his hands over his head protectively as he crashed to the ground.

Flames licked the air even as shrapnel flung, several catching him in the arm, ripping, tearing the grey flight suit sleeve, painting it red with blood.

_His blood._

He hit the ground with a thump, the gun skittering away from suddenly nerveless fingers unnoticed. Twin pinpoints of pain raced up the wounded arm, stealing his breath.

Nausea gripped him as he fought for air, fighting the blackness. String bit the inside of his jaw so hard it nearly bled. Pain washed over him in an unrelenting wave.

_Stupid, stupid. He should've seen it coming… a rookie's mistake. He snarled in agony, rolling on the ground._

Guns clicked around him. AK-47's at the ready, the lost guards abruptly found.

Pain hazed the blue eyes as he tried to roll upright, gripping the temporarily useless arm, blood oozing between his fingers. Beside him, dark splatters hit the ground.

Breath sawed in and out of his lungs as he fought for consciousness. He made it as far as his knees. Dust covered boots appeared in his line of vision.

"Well, well, Mr. Hawke, you joined us," Greschen smirked. "Caught something like a bird in a wire, wouldn't you say?" He chuckled, kicking dirt in Hawke's face.

Hawke fought the urge to throw up, his stomach heaving as his fingers clenched around the blood-smeared sleeve. His throat clogged. He was losing the battle and he knew it. "Drop dead," he spat.

Victor Greschen laughed, gripping the bruised shoulder and shaking it companionably. Hawke's blood colored his fingertips.

The bitten off moan was unmistakable. "Mmmph."

Greschen shoved, nearly landing him face first in the dirt. "Get rid of him," he ordered contemptuously.

Twin pairs of hands reached down, grasping Hawke's forearms, abruptly hauling him to his feet with a jerk. Guns swung to their backs.

The pilot made it almost upright before his knees buckled, stumbling beneath his weight. Grips tightened mercilessly and Hawke's eyes rolled back as he slipped under.

The two mercs caught him right before he hit the ground, dead weight. Grunting, they dragged him forward, his feet dragging behind.

Raising his right hand to his lips, Greschen licked the rivulet of blood that ran from his fingertips before slinging the rest from his hand.

"Revenge is sweet, Mr. Hawke, remember that." He grinned.

* * *

><p>Frustration laced Seb's voice, as he stated the words Roper'd been expecting the last five minutes, as Airwolf skimmed the ground in nap of the earth flight that left them both white-knuckled.<p>

"They've got him."

The barely uttered curse was lost in Airwolf's howl of defeat as he yanked her skyward. Ripped from the chase, the armor-plated helicopter hovered above the ground shuddering.

"You're sure?"

Seb's fingers danced across the keyboard confirming what he already knew - String's heat signature gobbled up by a larger group. Defeat tinged the tone this time. "Yeah."

Airwolf wallowed uncertainly beneath his hand as Roper took in his words, easing back on the collective, desperately trying to come up with a back up plan, any plan.

_It wasn't coming…_

"There's something else you need to know," Seb said.

"What?" Roper demanded, suddenly very sure he didn't want to know.

"He's either hurt or he's dead. His heat signature just dropped significantly.

* * *

><p>Gritting his teeth, Mike snatched at the cuffs that bound him.<p>

Not that it did him any good. He was just as firmly bound as he'd been an hour before. The only difference was he was a lot sorer.

Pain radiated up the casted arm.

_And a lot madder…_

Grimacing, he cast an angry glance at the crumpled form in the corner of the room, not sure if he was alive or dead. Blood stained the edges of the light grey flight suit.

Hawke.

Bad enough he was the bait.

Worse still, he'd caught his friends being it.

* * *

><p>"I still think it's a stupid idea," Seb snapped, shoving a clip in the Walther PPK he held in his hand.<p>

"You got a better one?" Roper queried, quirking his eyebrow in much the same mannerism as his father.

For some reason, it annoyed him disproportionately. "No," he growled. "I just fail to see how getting yourself shot is going to help matters any."

"Last I checked, I wasn't planning on it," Roper returned, casting him an angry glance.

"No, and I doubt String was planning on getting caught either," Seb fired back. "And we see how well that turned out!"

Seething now, Roper shoved away from the helicopter where he'd been standing. "In case you missed it," he snarled, "I'm not my father."

Seb met him glare for glare. "No, you're not," he agreed. "Maybe, just once you might oughtta cut him some slack."

"Really?" Sarcasm dripped from the word. "Like he did Katie?" His rising ire was evident in his lean face.

"Oh, come off it," Seb snapped. "It's not like you even liked her. Let's be honest, she was a nutcase!"

Pain clenched in his gut. He took a step forward. "She was my partner! My responsibility!"

Compassion and pity tinged the storm-grey eyes. "Yeah, she was. She was also damaged goods and we both know that. The Company wouldn't have saddled you with her otherwise. Hawke did the best he could with what he had."

Roper's jaw clenched as he looked away. "Well, then it wasn't good enough." He shoved past the other. Booted feet took nearly the same path his father had taken an hour earlier.

Seb sighed, watching him go. "Maybe it never is."


	12. Chapter 12

Pain ratcheted through his body as Hawke came to. The light that blazed through with it, threatening to sear his eyeballs was no better. He'd gone on a bender or two after getting back from 'Nam, remembering buddies who hadn't made it home. They'd been nothing compared to this.

He let out a groan.

"Hawke?" The rustling in the room told him he wasn't alone. The relief in Mike's voice told him he looked as bad as he felt.

_It was a wonder he was alive._

Clamping one hand to the side of his head, trying to make sure it didn't fall off; he rolled, working to get his knees under him. The room swayed alarmingly. Placing one hand up against the wall, he staggered to his feet.

And nearly slid down it…

"Easy," Mike cautioned, eyeing him. "You okay?"

He huffed a breath, shuddering, working not to say something sarcastic. _"Fine," came to mind and he discarded it. At the moment, he felt anything but. _"You know, we've got to stop meeting like this, Rivers," he muttered, his voice barely more than a husky rasp. "People are gonna talk."

Mike grinned, his relief at seeing Hawke on his feet evident. "Never would've figured you for one who worried about what other people thought."

Hand to his head, his friend winced. "I'm beginning to re-think that." Levering himself off the wall, Hawke took a stumbling step towards Mike. "Should I even ask what you've gotten yourself into this time?"

"Just more of the usual family business. Is there ever anything else?" he retorted.

Struggling to get Mike's bonds free, String shook his head. "No." Staggering abruptly, he caught himself at the last instant, grabbing onto Mike's chair to keep from falling.

Concern laced River's tone. "You okay?"

"Yeah," String replied dryly, willing the swimming room to quit anytime it felt like it. "Never better." Swallowing, he closed his eyes. "You got any idea where Greschen is?" he muttered.

"Haven't got a clue." Worry edged Mike's voice as he eyed his friend. "You realize Greschen spots you, you're dead meat?"

"So, what's new?" String queried, fighting to pick the lock on Mike's cuffs. His skin was pasty and he tried to ignore the way the keyhole wavered in front of his eyes.

"He wants Airwolf and he's planning on using your son to get it," Mike said quietly. You think you're in any condition to stop him?"

_A vision of eyes as blue as his own swam in front of him, sun-kissed skin barely tanned. Archangel's daughter. Katie fighting for her last breath. Dying in his arms. _

The lock pick slid home, taking a chunk of his flesh with it.

"Well, he damn sure isn't getting either," he vowed. "Move it Rivers, we've got a trap to spring."

* * *

><p>Frowning, Seb covered the uneven ground between him and the compound, knowing Roper was out there somewhere, shadowing his movements.<p>

_The rookies saving the professionals. If it weren't so screwed up, he'd laugh._

Adrenaline thrummed through his veins and he wondered vaguely if this was how Jade had felt on a mission for Michael. Knowing success or failure rested squarely on your shoulders. Maybe… The only problem was, success wasn't a given.

The vision of finding her covered in her own blood in the office floor, rose up taunting him. Holding her, as the warmth left her body.

He shoved it resolutely away. He couldn't afford to fail. He wouldn't.

Hauling in a shuddering breath, he ignored the pain in his side and picked up his pace.

_Everybody had to grow up sometime. Maybe he was past due._

* * *

><p>Picking up the gun from the table, Victor Greschen paused to give one last look around him. Twenty years of waiting and watching finally come to fruition.<p>

He was going to miss this place. He ran one hand across the silken wood grain of the antique desk as he glanced one last time out the window, knowing that when he walked away today there would be nothing left.

The bomb meticulously set beneath the desk in front of him assured him of that. Even now, he could picture the numbers counting down once he had armed it.

Counting down to Archangel's destruction. Counting down to his one-uppance of the man who'd dared to steal Airwolf from Moffett. Counting down to the moment when he had in his possession what should've been his, a decade and a half ago.

And he'd use Hawke's son to get it. Rivers would've worked, but he liked the irony of coming full circle back to Stringfellow Hawke's bastard son to do it.

Grinning, he slid the gun into his pocket. _After all, the past had a way of coming up and biting you on the …_

"Stop!" The harshly bitten off word rasped across his nerves, followed by the click of the safety being released on a semi-automatic handgun.

Swallowing, he slid his hands into the air, turning as he did so.

Only to stare straight into the blood-creased face of Stringfellow Hawke, weapon in hand and leant against the door frame. Looking considerably better for wear, Mike Rivers stood beside him, weapon raised.

There was no denying the two of them meant business.

"You," he snarled, the guttural word sliding past his lips. The only thing he could think of was his revenge slipping away. He started to drop his hands.

"Don't." Mike's sharply bitten command echoed in the room. Cautiously, he started to step forward. Greschen froze.

Behind him, the slightest rasp of footstep whispered in the hall, giving him pause. Hawke turned to catch it in his peripheral vision.

It was all the hesitation Greschen needed. He lunged across the room towards Hawke, shoulder first, the full weight of his body taking him down - hard. A gun flashed from seemingly nowhere as he did so.

Mike swung around, unable to get a clear shot as the two men crashed to the floor. Hawke took the brunt of the blow, Greschen landing on top. One long arm snaked around the pilot's throat, cutting off his air even as Greschen brought the gun up.

Writhing, Hawke fought him to no avail. Chairs crashed to the ground around them. They rolled, grappling for purchase. One on top and then the other.

Booted feet slammed into the room, moments too late. Seb and Roper rushing in, drawn by the commotion, only to draw up short, their guns useless.

"Drop it!" The cocky assurance was back in Greschen's voice as he wrenched Hawke back up against him, his arm tight against his throat; his icy, soulless eyes pinning them where they stood.

Seb and Roper hesitated just inside the doorway, weapons in hand.

Gasping, String's fingers scrabbled against Greschen's arm, his battle to breathe loud in the room.

"Now!" Victor Greschen snapped, clamping down his hold on Hawke, the arm bar cutting off all air now.

Desperate for air, String could feel himself graying out Knew he had only seconds before unconsciousness would claim him…

Seb's gun clattered to the floor.

Mentally moaning, he fought against the loss, knowing it was a mistake; seeing Roper bend , leaning as if to place his gun down in front of him…

Still, Mike wavered, clearly aware there was no way this could end well…

_It wouldn't. They both knew that._

Blue eyes met blue, Hawke's desperation a near tangible thing. He wrenched hard against Greschen's arm at his throat in a last desperate attempt. "Shoot him, Mike," he rasped, his voice the barest thread. "Shoot him now!"

And then, abruptly, everything went to hell in a hand basket. The gun Greschen had leveled at Hawke swung first in Mike's direction, and then Seb's, the twin shots he fired deafening in the small space.

Instinctively, Roper dove for the gun he'd just dropped, coming up firing, knowing somehow the others were diving for cover somewhere behind him.

Adrenaline slammed through him, levering off shot after shot, knowing that if he missed his father would be next. He emptied the clip.

Cringing, half-deaf, Hawke slumped free, feeling Greschen's body collapse behind him. Arms covering his head, chest heaving, he fought for air even as his ears rang.

_Time stood still._

Behind him, Roper registered the rise of noise in the hall, a warning things weren't all they should be. Heart pounding, jaw clenched he pointed the Beretta at Greschen even as his mind told him he must be dead.

A hand came down on his shoulder. Instinctively, he rolled, bringing the gun he held up in both hands even as his finger tightened on the trigger.

Fight or flight ebbed so fast it left him trembling as he stared into Seb's stormy eyes.

His finger slid off the trigger.

_Click._

"Seb," he croaked, "What the hell are you doing?"

Barely six years older and his uncle, Seb swallowed, realizing how close he'd come to being a dead bunny.

_A very dead bunny._

Roper lowered the gun.

"Checking on you," he rasped. "You weren't moving and I'd already called your name twice. You okay?"

Dazedly, Roper glanced over at Rivers hauling Hawke to his feet. _String was fine... Mike was fine..._

"Yeah," he whispered, as Seb reached down a hand for him. "Look…"

Dark grey eyes met his, acknowledging the apology there, even as he grabbed his arm with a tight grip, dragging him upright.

The noise outside increased. Whatever remained of Greschen's forces were heading their way fast.

Seb gave him a weak grin before slamming a new clip in his own gun. "I should've announced myself better. It happens."

Roper threw one last glance String's way, remembering Katie.

_Yeah, sometimes it did._

* * *

><p>Despite having to fight their way out of Greschen's compound, the trip home was quiet. Seb's flying was always cautious and Roper had taken the co-pilot's position up front with him. Rivers was exhausted and it showed, both in the fine lines that edged his face and in the pained way he moved.<p>

String was nursing the mother of all headaches. The aches and pains weren't so bad, unfortunately he had enough experience to know they'd come later.

They always did.

Still, he figured he needed to at least make the effort. He might love both his brother and his son, but that didn't mean he had the slightest idea what to do with them.

_Combine that with the fact he didn't have a clue what to say to Michael…_

He swallowed, feeling vaguely sick. If he didn't say something soon, he'd lose whatever nerve he had to do so.

"You want to come out to the cabin tomorrow?" he asked of no one in particular, wondering who'd be the first to shoot him down. "I was thinking maybe, considering everything …"

Rivers shot him a sympathetic glance. He knew all too well how seldom String issued actual invites. He also knew how hard facing Michael would be for String.

_He'd be there even if he felt like a herd of elephants had trampled him._

"Sure," came Roper's quiet reply. "I'll be there."

Seb's gaze met Roper's across the console, assuring him the near miss really was forgotten. Beneath the heavy helmet his cheeks creased. "Me too," he stated emphatically.

Mike grinned, wondering what Hawke's wife was going to say when she found she had the entire Airwolf clan destined for her doorstep. He reached over and slapped String's shoulder. "Maybe, you might outta warn Cait."


	13. Chapter 13

As it was, Cait didn't have too much to say, mostly she was just glad Roper and String seemed to be back on speaking terms.

She shot a fond glance at the men in her life - one head dark blonde, one brown with just the barest hint of gray starting to thread it - both were bent nearly together over Nicky's russet one, examining in detail his somewhat worse for wear football.

Saint John and Seb stood on the other side of the yard egging them on. From the looks of things, Amelia had every intention of joining their team whether they wanted her or not.

_Maybe not. _

Squealing, she ran as her uncle Saint John chased her down, only to swing her up on his broad shoulders.

"Come on, String," he yelled. "We haven't got all day!" Chants of "Forfeit! Forfeit!" promptly went up across the yard.

Leant against the railing his arm around Sarah, Mike gave a rusty laugh. "Come on, guys!" he yelled. "Get 'em String! You aren't going to take that lying down are you?"

Caitlin shot him an amused look. "You know, you could always join them."

Blue eyes twinkling, Mike laughed. "I've seen how they play." He raised the casted arm. "One broken wing is enough."

The redhead giggled. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were getting old."

Mumbling something, Sarah abruptly slid free of Mike's arms. Her expression was pained as she slipped past Caitlin into the house. The door clicked shut with a grim finality behind her.

"Maybe," he said restively. The laughter in his eyes ebbed as he shot a glance in the direction Sarah had disappeared. "Sometimes I wonder." His gaze dropped to the wood planks at his feet. He didn't make any move to follow her though.

_She didn't have to ask, to know there were still problems there. Possibly bigger than either one of them knew how to solve._

The silence drug out a long moment between them, before he leant over the rail, watching the game again. "Mostly I'm just glad Saint John was able to come," he said quietly.

It was no secret Jo was having all sorts of problems with this pregnancy. A run in with an old enemy of String's had nearly cost her the baby's life, for that matter it still might, she thought grimly. Since then, Saint John had stayed close to home to insure there were no repeat performances.

_Not that she blamed him._

Unbidden, a pain clutched at her heart, reminding her of the baby she and String had lost between Nicky and Amelia. Barely there, and yet never forgotten. Swallowing, she pushed it away as she leant on the porch rail next to Mike.

"She any better?" she queried. She might visit Jo on a regular basis, but she was savvy enough to know Saint John and Mike shared confidences they didn't.

Worry lines creased the blonde pilot's face. "Who knows?" he shrugged. Turning, he shot her a wry smile. "I think she threatened to kick him out, if he didn't come today." He grinned. "She can be every bit as stubborn as String and Saint John."

"Good thing she had a good teacher," Caitlin murmured, as she thought of the ebullient Italian who'd had a hand in raising them all. "Somebody's got to keep the two of them in line."

Mike snorted. He knew the likelihood of that. "Any word from Michael?" he asked. The spy was as conspicuous by his absence as by his white suit.

"No," Caitlin whispered, "Marella said they'd be here." It was clear worry was beginning to get the better of her.

The harsh rasp of Mike's cast scraped against her skin as he wrapped his fingers around her hand - warm, solid and incredibly comforting. "Then they'll be here," he promised.

* * *

><p>Grimacing, Michael threw the file folder back on his desk. It raised more questions than answers. It was also clear the Company had no intention of answering any of them.<p>

With Greschen dead, it seemed unlikely he'd ever find the answers he sought. Not that he could blame Mike in the least for shooting him, but the questions beat against his brain. Like, what had happened in that house twenty years ago when he'd gone hunting for Alex…

…and where had Greschen had been keeping her, that he'd never found her - despite the money and efforts of more agents than he cared to admit, only to have her re-surface working for heaven knows who.

He had no doubts Greschen had intended Katie to be a mole, to use her for his own means.

And yet, despite everything, she'd proven to be unmanageable, playing the game as she saw fit.

She'd saved Roper and Seb, possibly Hawke and Airwolf as well. Which begged the question, had she known who Hawke was? What Michael was to her?

Taking his glasses off, Archangel scrubbed a weary hand across his face.

He'd never know. He could only take consolation in the fact she'd done the right thing in the end.

He shoved the glasses back on his nose, only to look up and find Marella leant against the door frame in a pencil straight white skirt. Her chocolate brown eyes were sympathetic.

"You ready?" she asked, quietly. "You know Cait and Hawke will be wondering."

Michael nodded, reaching for the rosewood cane at his side. "Go ahead, I'll be right there."

In the doorway Marella hesitated, wishing there were words to say how much she wished things had turned out differently.

Stiffly levering himself up, Archangel stood.

_Unfortunately, there weren't._

She stepped across the room to slide her fingers through the silvery blonde hair at his temple. She cupped his cheek and placed a kiss there as brown eyes met his single intense blue one. "Don't be too long," she said solemnly.

For a long second, he held her gaze, his arm around her waist. And then she turned, her heels echoing hollowly on the tile floor behind her as she left his office.

Long fingers hesitating, Archangel's hand hovered over the file folder before flipping it open and sliding a single picture out.

_A girl with eyes the color of the summer sky above Hawke's lake and a twist of golden braid half as thick as his wrist._

He brushed his fingers across it longingly, before dropping it in his desk drawer next to her mother's picture.

Grasping his cane he limped out of the room.

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon by the time the white Long Ranger made it to the lake, long shadows of the California pines swooping across the mountains.<p>

"Told you," Mike whispered to Cait as he spotted it. He squeezed her arm as he passed.

She'd noticed it in almost the same instant, sensing it with the sudden tensing of String's stance with the kids.

Evidently, she wasn't the only one who spotted that. It was Seb and Roper who as if by mutual consent headed the kids up the trail into the woods behind the cabin, football in hand. Nicky might've shot a questioning glance over his shoulder at String, but it was Roper who herded him on when he would have paused.

_Clearly, whatever differences stood between them had been settled._

Caitlin felt the catch that'd hitched her breathing all day, ease just a notch. She blinked aside tears of thankfulness.

Now, if only String and Archangel could put aside their differences. If only Michael could find it in himself to forgive what String had cost him.

And if String could find it in his heart to forgive himself…

She sighed.

_Miracles still happened, right?_

* * *

><p>Hawke found Michael stood down on the dock, the evening shadows casting the mountain on the other side of the lake in a purplish haze. An orange glow still painted the sky.<p>

It would've been a perfect evening, except for the reason they were both there.

He hauled in a steadying breath, still unsure what he wanted to say. Marella had passed him on the path to the house some time ago.

Funny how you could know somebody years and still be at a loss of words. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets, not sure he wanted to meet his friend's one-eyed gaze.

"You okay?"

Michael nodded, still staring off into the distance, remembering. Remembering a baby he'd held far too few times and trying to remember what she'd felt like, smelled like, the way she'd smiled.

He sighed. "Yeah." His hand tightened on the rosewood cane at his side.

It was clearly a lie and they both knew it. She was gone - just like her mother, like so many others, like perhaps even them one day...

He drew a ragged breath, wondering what to say to his long time friend.

Hawke beat him to the punch.

"I'm sorry, Michael," he whispered. "If I'd known…" his voice trailed off. Regret laced his words.

_If only they all had. He thought of how close String had come to losing his son, his brother, his own life. Greschen had played them all._

Swallowing, Hawke hesitated. Katie had been a lot of things, not emerging unscathed by her years with Greschen, but in the end when it had mattered, she'd been Michael's daughter. "If I could go back and do it differently, I would," he murmured.

Never turning, Michael stared out at the lake and the dying sunset behind it. "I never doubted it, Hawke," he whispered.

And somewhere in the tension that slid away from him, Hawke found the words to share the woman Katie had been in the last moments of her life.

And Michael found his daughter, if only for a moment.


End file.
